


Punching Bag

by WildAndFreeHearts



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Age Play, Blood, Bloodplay, Breathplay, Consensual Violence, Emotion Play, Fighting, Incest, M/M, Roughness, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-02
Updated: 2013-02-02
Packaged: 2017-11-27 21:52:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/666884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WildAndFreeHearts/pseuds/WildAndFreeHearts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam beats the crap out of Dean.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Punching Bag

My face is in the dirt, the taste of it heavy on my tongue as Sammy's foot connects against my ribs. He's standing over me, screaming and cussing and generally hating the fuck out of me apparently. Then the flavor of fresh blood blossoms to join the dirt-taste as his boot splits my lip. I take small pride in the fact that even though I'm currently getting the brakes beat off me Sammy's nose is probably broken from where I clocked him one.

  
And while all of this is happening all I can think is that this is Sammy... my sweet little baby brother, the kid I used to play wrestle with for the last can of spaghettios. That’s all I can ever think about when shit like this happens.

  
Also now I’m worrying. Not about the fact that I was dumb enough to pick a fight with my baby brother while I’m drunk or even that he smacked me like some kind of a sissy; but because the little prick was winning. Because gravity is a bitch and obviously right now equilibrium is too... I can’t seem to stand up fast enough to keep Sammy from pummeling me back down, like a sadistic game of human whack-a-mole. Maybe getting dunk was a bad idea. And then again maybe it’s a good thing I’m so trashed because otherwise, judging by the massive amounts of blood pouring off of me I’d definitely be in a lot of pain.

  
I’m on my knees now, he’s dragged me by the collar of my jacket into a semi-upright position and he’s whaling on my face. And even though I can’t feel the full pain of Sammy using me as his own personal punching bag, I can still hear what he’s saying and it’s like a nightmare that I can’t wake the hell up from. He’s saying that everything bad that’s ever happened to him is my fault, about mom, dad, Jessica. That he’s finally had it with my bullshit. That he fucking hates me. That he’s going to make me regret ever being alive.

  
He throws me to the hard ground, hands wrapping around my throat, fingers lacing together to block my airway, I can’t breathe.

  
Then I feel him grinding our crotches together, hot and hard. I want to struggle and scream but between the the lack of blood and air I seem to have lost all ability to resist my baby brother rutting our bodies together.

  
God, this shouldn’t feel so fucking good. But it does.

  
Sammy’s still strangling me as his yelling suddenly dissolves into almost incoherent babbling and gasps moans, that make my own throat burn for air all the more.  
“Oh, Jesus. Dean....I.... fuck! I love you!”

  
His grip slackens and moves down to clutch at my shoulders. I greedily suck in oxygen, in case he decides to deprive me of it again. “I love you too, Sammy.“ I manage to pant out. Then I grasp my baby brother’s belt-loops and roll my hips.

  
It’s fucking heaven.

  
In my state I don’t know how long I can last. But then it doesn’t seem to matter so much because Sammy is bucking and moaning, his rhythm becoming erratic. And then he goes tense, jerking and gasping slightly against me. I feel his come leaking though his denim and wetting mine as he rolls his hips a last few times before I come too.

\-----

The alarm clock on Sammy’s phone is a torture device. I groan pitifully and try to block out the sound with one of the hotel room pillows.

  
I hear a mocking chuckle as my baby brother reaches over my body to the nightstand to grab his phone. “I told you we shouldn’t play hard while in the middle of a case didn’t I? But you just had to get all prepped up and pick a fight didn’t you?”

“Shut. Up.”

I hear the same small evil laugh, as he throws my pillow across the room and says in a sing-song voice. “Wakey-wakey Dean, the monsters won’t hunt themselves.”


End file.
